


To Seduce the Fruit From the Trees

by orphan_account



Series: Amazon Women in the Mood [2]
Category: Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Language Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 14:15:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11254629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Antiope explains to her niece why they need to know all the languages they know even if they never enter the world of men.





	To Seduce the Fruit From the Trees

Diana sat back in her saddle, enjoying the gentle stretch and flex of the horse’s muscles underneath her.  She gazed out over the island, splashed in gold light, before turning to her aunt.  “So then,” she began, after what had been several moments of silence, “what is the purpose of these hundreds of tongues that we study, if we are never to go into the world of men?”

“Well,” Antiope replied archly, “your mother would kill me for saying this, but who said we are never to go?”

Diana smirked.  “My mother.”

Antiope chuckled.  “She may be right, she may not.  It is better to be prepared.”

Diana shook her head.  “But what use are they to me here, now?”

Antiope nodded.  “I shall show you.”

 

 ***************************************

 

Diana stood upon the rocks beside her aunt, gazing down into a field where two rabbits sat nibbling on grass.  She drew her bow.  “German is my favorite language for archery,” she said, and then she nocked an arrow and drew it back.  “Präzise sprache für präzise treffsicherheit,” she said, and let fly.  The bolt struck both rabbits, passing through one and then the other behind it.  

_Precise language for precise marksmanship, indeed._

“Fine, but what else?”

 

 ***************************************

 

They stood beneath a lemon tree in her mother’s groves, and Diana breathed in the scent of the ripening fruit.  It’s leaves sprouted forth from the boughs in dark green, glossy bunches.  The shade was cool and mellow, and in that moment, Diana felt she never wanted to leave.  She daydreamed for a moment of plucking the lemons to squeeze out upon a freshly caught fish that she might grill over a fire.

“These lemons are nearly ripe,” Antiope said.  

“I wish they would hurry,” Diana muttered.  “Their scent is making my mouth water.”

Antiope nodded, looking not at Diana but at the small, still half-green fruits and gently stroking one with her callused fingers.  “But you cannot rush them.  They must be moved along softly, and coaxed into readiness.”  She closed her eyes for a moment and then said, “For such things, Diana, you might use Portuguese.  Linguagem suave para seduzir a fruta das árvores.”   _Gentle language to seduce the fruit from the trees._

Diana took note.

 

 *************************************

 

Antiope and her inner circle of women fighters liked to sail.  Antiope and Menalippe stood at the helm of the sturdy sailboat that they had built themselves perhaps a hundred or so years ago and that still cut the waves around the island as if it had been built a day ago.  Diana adjusted her breathing to the rhythm of the waves and listened to the slap of the water against the sides of the boat. 

Antiope commanded her small crew in Russian, ordering them to trim the sails, to mind the tiller.  They did not venture much beyond the shores of the island, but rather circumnavigated it, giving Diana a rare view of her home from just outside it.  Diana was captivated, as ever, by the wild beauty of the forests spilling over the sides of the island, as if painted there by some master’s brush, and the way her people teemed along its paths and walkways and in its streams and valleys.  

“Why Russian?” she asked, as the craft made its way around.  

“Sil'nyy yazyk, chtoby komandovat' vetrom,”  Antiope answered, heaving the tiller to starboard to bank around a peninsula that jutted out from the northern tip of the island.

_Strong language to command the wind._

 

 **************************************

 

Diana stood back in the plaza, her feet planted wide apart, watching Io the blacksmith at her work.  She watched the bunching of the muscles in her back and shoulders as she raised her massive hammer, preparing to swing.  She watched and counted the beads of sweat that trickled down her back after each swing.  She watched the sparks fly from the anvil and the orange glow of the forge and her heart beat faster in her chest.  

She felt Antiope’s approach before she heard it.  

“Hello, my favorite aunt.”

“I am your only aunt.”

Diana shrugged.  “Technically.”

“So it is Io that you have set your eyes upon.”  Antiope chuckled.  “Will you try to bring her to bed?”

Diana nodded slowly.  “It is my hope, yes.”  She turned to her aunt with eyes twinkling, and asked, “And what language should I use for that?”

Antiope’s pale eyes were mirthful.  “C'est à toi de décider,” she laughed.   _That is for you to decide._   “But I have always liked French.”

Diana smirked.  “Langage sensuel pour les activités sensuelles?”    _Sensual language for sensual activities?_

Antiope laughed, then, and punched Diana’s shoulder.  “Just so, little one.  You are learning.”  

 

 *************************

 

Diana lay tangled in Io’s powerful limbs.  While she had discovered her desire for Io when she was covered in soot and swinging a hammer, she found that she was even more beautiful when she was clean and damp from bathing beneath the secluded waterfall in the woods near the top of the island, the place that was Diana’s favorite.  She found that the forge’s firelight that had made her look so mighty and thrown her muscles into such sharp relief was a different thing from the light of their campfire, which seemed to find every bit of softness in her.  Diana was charmed beyond measure.  

But Io was also charmed beyond measure.  Diana had brought her through many of the wonders outlined in Clio’s treatises; she had seduced her, taken command of her, surrendered to her, and given her the most sensual of pleasures.  They lay on a blanket in the grass beside the fire, staring up at the stars and the bright silver moon.  

“You have spoken many languages to me tonight,” Io observed, cradling Diana’s head against her chest.

“As have you.”  Diana breathed in her scent, which was that of fire, even when she was clean.  “But there is one that I would like to hear you speak again.”

“And what is that?”

Diana shifted and began to move down Io’s body yet again.  She settled herself between those tanned, muscular thighs and looked up at her.  “The language of surrender.”

And it had no words, this language, but as Diana’s mouth took its fill of Io’s taste, she mused that it needed no words, for its meaning was clear enough.


End file.
